Final Death
by Serenity No Haiki
Summary: A millenia after the events of DEEPGROUND, Vincent is a wandering loner. As he traverses the desert wasteland Gaia has become, he sees things that point to only one conclusion; the final death of the planet.
1. Prologue

In the wake of MeteorFall, Midgar was abandoned, in favor of building a new, bigger and better city, Edge. People were just beginning to settle back down to normal life when the Advent Children began wreaking havoc. The remnants of Jenova sought to reunite with their 'mother'. The Children were swiftly dealt with by the Heroes of MeteorFall, the rebel group turned planet savers, AVALANCHE. In the wake of the Advent Children's downfall, the citizens of Edge were reluctant and wary of the returning peace. The days turned to weeks, turned to months; eventually the time of peace stretched out to two years. People the planet over were happy, prospering in the newfound tranquility. And then the disappearances started. A person here, a person there; vanished without a trace. Then, more disappeared in greater, ever increasing numbers. AVALANCHE was called upon once again to save the planet from an extremist group. DEEPGROUND, a splinter faction of the Shinra Electric Power Company. At great cost to the planet and its' people, the world was saved yet again. Thoroughly chastised by the erroneous ways of their forebears, the populace of the planet vowed to never again willfully damage the planet. Their vow lasted many hundreds of years, but the irrevocable damage had been meted out. A thousand years after the last manmade threat to the planet, less than a tenth of the original population remained. Though they did their best, the planet had dried up, taking with it everyone it could, whether by sickness, or by starvation. Those few that survived, eked out a living in the barren wasteland their home world had become.


	2. Chapter 1

The hard-packed red clay beneath the lone travelers' boots sent up a small puff of pale red dust every time one was picked up and set down a pace further on. The sun glared mercilessly down on the travelers' hunched shoulders, as if the very light itself weighed tons. Thrown carelessly around the mans' shoulders was a tattered and threadbare cloak, that might once have been a stunningly deep crimson but was now such a pale shade of pink as to be almost white. Beneath the cloak were faded black leather clothes, so worn as to be softer than doeskin. Multiple belts were slung around narrow hips and from one dangled a gun holster, weighed down by an overly large, triple-barreled revolver. Slung across the travelers' shoulders, barely visible beneath the cloak, was a long barreled rifle, it's muzzle carefully wrapped in oilskin to keep it safe from the elements and beneath the rifle rested a simple sack, now and then jumping slightly with the travelers' stride. The travelers' hair, black as sin, and long enough to rival the tattered hem of the cloak that brushed his ankles, was semi-tamed by a strip of cloth that looked like it had been torn from the hem of the cloak. The bandana was pulled down almost to the bridge of his nose, casting the mans' eyes into shadow. His mouth was set into a hard line, looking for all the world like he hadn't smiled in decades. All added up to one, Vincent Valentine, once three-time hero of the Planet, turned wanderer.

He'd been walking for weeks, wending his way across the bleak desert landscape from one tiny oasis to another. He never stayed more than a day and a night at any one, lest he upset the oh-so-fragile ecosystem. He had drank the last of his water three days ago, and the last of his food had been gone a week before that. If his memory served him, there should be an oasis less than a full days' walk from where he was. Wearily, he picked up his pace as best he could, making more dust puff up from under his heavy boots. Sunset saw him cresting a sand dune to look down on the skeletal desiccated remains of the trees that had surrounded the oasis. By the looks of it, it had succumbed to the ever encroaching desert and dried up shortly after he'd left it a year ago. Heaving a heart-heavy sigh, he shrugged out of the straps of his rucksack, letting it thump to the ground in a cloud of red dust. His rifle followed suit, though much more carefully, with the wrapped muzzle resting on the pack, safely away from the ground. One-handed, he unbuckled the belts around his waist, coiling them neatly on top of his pack, with the large-bore revolver on top, within easy reach. The last few fading rays of light stretched Vincents' shadow into a gross caricature. He glared at it, as if daring it to come alive. When he got no reaction, he sighed again and spread his cloak out on the sand. With deft fingers, he undid the small buckles on the underside of his gauntlet, to loosen it enough to slip off. With a distasteful grimace at the sight of his mangled limb, he placed the gauntlet on his cloak and walked a few paces away, to stop where he thought he remembered the pool being.

' _This is_ _going_ _to be_ _fun_.' He thought inanely, humor the last thing on his mind. Shoving his wandering thoughts aside, he began to dig, scooping the soft sand to either side with practiced sweeps of his hands. He lost himself in the mindless work. By the time the moon was rising, he had dug a hole almost twelve feet deep. His left hand scooped a large handful that clumped suspiciously. Vincent paused mid-throw, bringing the handful in front of his face. Hesitantly, he sniffed it. Under the dry scent of sand was the very faint scent of water. With renewed vigor, he kept digging. Every handful he scooped and tossed over his shoulder was damper than the one before it. A disgusting gurgling sound came from the sand beneath his feet. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, water bubbled up through the sand. Vincent backpedaled swiftly, jumping for the rim of the hole. The level of water rose swiftly, as if reaching to drag his fleeing form back down into the depths of the hole.

When the water had reached its peak depth, and had settled some, Vincent retreated to his cloak and rummaged in his backpack for his waterskins. Carefully kneeling at the edge of the waterhole, so as not to knock the sand back in, he began filling the skins with as much as they would hold. When all were full, he took them back to his makeshift bed and repacked them. Looking at the remaining water, he made up his mind. Quickly shucking out of his clothes, he unwound the bandana, letting his raven hair fall completely free. Stepping gingerly into the water, he let himself sink until just his nose and up was above the water. The water was frigid, but Vincent relished the icy bite of it after the intense heat of the days. He couldn't remember the last time he'd deigned to bath. Having to conserve water for drinking meant little for other things. He let himself float in the water until he felt his feet touch the bottom of the hole. The desert was reclaiming what he hadn't taken. He submerged quickly, roughly running his fingers along his scalp, scrubbing away weeks or months worth of accumulated grime. Taking a double handful of clean sand from the bottom of the hole, he scrubbed his body until his skin was pink. But at least he was clean. The last of the water drained back into the sand, leaving Vincent standing in the now empty hole, dripping and shivering. He leapt out of the hole and returned to his cloak, wringing the water from his hair into a small collapse-able pot. Drawn by the intoxicating scent of the water, small subterranean shellfish had begun to burrow out of the damp sand. Quickly snatching up a handful at a time, he dumped them in the pot, not even bothering to kill or clean them. When he had a sufficient amount in the pot, he went around and gathered as much wood from the dead trees as he could carry. He made a neat pyramid of sticks with a pile of shavings inside. Fishing around in his pack, he brought out a small crystal orb that fit in the palm of his hand. The deep red color shifted from red to orange to yellow, flickering like flames. Vincent regarded the marble sized orb with a look of fond remembrance. A certain pyromaniacally inclined ninja had given it to him a long time ago.

" ** _FIRE_** '' he murmured, channeling a small flicker of magic into the orb. An orange spark jumped from his fingertips to the pile of tinder. The bone dry wood caught instantly, and soon Vincent had a merry little fire going. He reached behind him and snagged the pot, setting it gently on top of the wooden pyramid. He stared listlessly into the flames as he waited for his dinner to cook. The flames warmed him, sending his mind wandering. The last time he'd sat in front a fire had been in a small village near the coast. The villagers had been wary of his approach, appearing as he had from out of a sandstorm. It had taken a great deal of time and effort to convince the elders that he wasn't a raider. In the end, they had welcomed him, and when it was time for him to move on, they had given him what food they could spare, meager though the offering was. He was brought out of his memories by the wind picking up. Deciding that his dinner was cooked enough, he pulled the pot off the embers of the fire, and set it on the sand to cool. While he waited, he rummaged in his pack again for a hairbrush. With swift strokes, he eased the tangles from his mane. When he was satisfied that all the tangles were gone, he began braiding it, pleating the soft strands into many small braids. When all of his hair was braided, he swept the mass over his shoulder and tied them all into one tail with a thin strip of leather.

' _Now for dinner._ ' He picked up the pot, drained the water and started eating, crunching the shellfish carapaces, organs and all. After decimating a quarter of them, he decided to save the rest for another meal. He pulled a square of oilcloth from his pack and wrapped them up in it before slipping the package into a pocket on the backpack. Vincent gazed up at the moon, noting the position of the stars. If he was right, it was only about three in the morning. He had a couple more hours of cool night to travel. Heaving himself to his feet, he dressed quickly, doused the fire, shrugged into his cloak and pack, and started on his way with the wind at his back.

The sun started peaking above the horizon, casting its ruddy light on the ground. Vincent squinted, his dark accustomed eyes protesting the higher light level. With the rising sun, the temperature would soon rise to an uncomfortable level, even for him. Luckily for Vincent, there was a large rock outcropping a few miles distant. If he upped the pace a little, he might be able to reach it before it got too hot. His assumption had been correct. The air temperature was just starting to become unbearable as he slipped beneath the outcrop. To his surprise, the back of the rock where he thought it would meet the ground, kept going down. Unholstering his handgun, he crept along the tunnel, his boots making hardly any sound on the hard stone. His keen eyes picked out details as easily as if it were as bright as day. The tunnel didn't go very far before it opened out into a sizable cavern. Vincent was surprised again when he caught the scent of water. He followed his nose to the farthest reaches of the cavern. There, nestled in a niche, was a tiny waterfall. The happy burbling sound of it was music to his ears. He didn't waste any time in making himself comfortable in the little cave.


	3. Chapter 2

He didn't remember falling asleep and didn't know for how long, when his hyper-sensitive ears picked up the sound of shifting sand at the mouth of the cavern tunnel. He was on his feet in an instant, grabbing his gun from the ground beside him. Silent as only he could be, he moved to the deeper shadows where the tunnel mouth opened into his little cave. Listening intently, Vincent could make out the individual treads of a dozen people, three with an unusual gait that he took to mean they were injured. It was a few minutes more before the leader of the group made their way into his line of sight. Vincent found himself holding his breath, dreading their discovery of him. The leader held a torch out in front of him as stepped into the cavern. Vincent squinted at the harsh orange light.

''I mean you no harm," he said, holstering his gun and stepping out of the concealing shadows, "My name is Vincent. May I ask yours?'' The leader started violently, almost dropping the torch, making the shadows flicker and dance. He turned, brandishing the torch, swinging it in an arc at Vincents' face.

''I didn't mean to startle you.'' Vincent said, stepping back hastily, bringing his hands up, palms out, in a gesture of surrender. Too late, he remembered his gauntlet, a comforting, ever-present weight at his side, but a source of fear and uncertainty for everyone else. The leader inhaled sharply, stumbling back a few paces, and brandished the torch even more fiercely.

''Easy. It's just a gauntlet. I can take it off if it'll make you feel better.'' At the leaders stiff nod, Vincent slowly moved his right hand, and with the leaders sharp grey eyes on his every movement, undid the buckles and let the gauntlet slip to the ground at his feet. The tense lines around the leaders' eyes relaxed a trifle at the heavy thud and loud clatter Vincents' gauntlet made when it hit the stone.

''John.'' The leaders' voice was deep, husky, as if he didn't talk much. Vincent quirked an eyebrow at the offhand manner of introduction.

"There's water," Vincent said, gesturing toward the back of the cave with his left hand, "There isn't much, but you are welcome to it." Saying that, he scooped up his gauntlet and made his way to his pack, setting the heavy glove on it as he sat down. The leader, John, eyed him warily before gesturing to his followers to come into the cave. Vincent watched from behind his fringe as everyone straggled in. There were thirteen all told; the strange gaits of the three turned out to be due to a heavily wounded man on a stretcher. A short boy, maybe midway through his teens, stumbled along beside it with one hand clutching the bloody hand of the man on the stretcher. Vincent found his gaze drawn to the boy. Children were usually kept well protected in this wasted land. To find one traveling was highly unusual. The boy had dark hair, hanging in limp dreadlocks to his waist. When he happened to glance in Vincents' direction, he was startled to see that the boys' eyes were a clear bright green, with elliptical pupils. Vincent was reminded uncomfortably of a certain SOLDIER general. Aside from the boys' hair, he was the spitting image of Sephiroth, right down to the little quirks he remembered from the few times he'd seen the silver-haired son of his murderer.

"His name is Jacob." Vincent turned at the sound of John's voice. He spoke softly, but Vincent had no trouble hearing him. The leader raised his head and met Vincents' garnet stare with his own steel grey.

"I apologize. I didn't mean to stare.'' The leader snorted softly at Vincents' statement.

"I know you. You're wondering why we have a child out in the Wastes. You're wondering where his parents are. His mother is dead, and his father is dying," he gestured to the injured man on the stretcher, "As to why we have him out here, he's a danger to everyone."

"So you are just going to leave him." Vincents' tone was icy, his bloody gaze colder. John shrugged, a nonchalant gesture.

"The boy was nothing but a burden on his village. He is no good at anything and what he does try fails miserably. Why, what is it to you?"

"Nothing." Vincent said, getting to his feet. He grabbed his belongings and headed for the cave entrance and hopefully solitude. The rock hiding the cave was bathed in scorching sunlight. Even for him, it wouldn't take long to succumb to heat stroke. Idly, he wondered how Johns' group had traveled through the searing heat of midday. Thankfully, there was shade under the rock. Vincent tossed his pack down and stretched out beside it, using it as a pillow. He closed his eyes, heaved a sigh and got comfortable. It was going to be a while before he could continue on for the night, so he might as well get some rest. He dozed for a few hours and woke an hour before the sun went down. Standing and stretching, he paced around a bit to restore circulation. Taking a deep breath, Vincent stretched his arms above his head, held the pose for a few seconds, then let his breath out as he lowered his arms. He noticed then that his left arm felt lighter, and looked down at the scarred limb. The myriad crisscrossing scars, and puncture marks stood out starkly, disgusting purplish-red against creamy pale. He grimaced in distaste and looked to his pack. His gauntlet stared reproachfully at him from its place on top. He strode quickly to it, snatched it up and buckled it on. He took a sip of water from one of the skins before shouldering his pack. Glancing at the setting sun, he judged it to be almost 8:30; he snorted abruptly. Even after so long, he was still thinking in terms of clock time. Shrugging to settle his burden, he stepped out into the ruddy evening sunlight and started southwest, heading for the next oasis.


	4. Chapter 3

It was an hour after sundown when Vincent thought he heard the sound of running footsteps. He stopped and turned, gazing at the ground he had covered. His keen eyes picked out the rock outcropping, tiny in the distance. About two miles back, he saw a small figure running at a ground-eating lope. Vincent sighed, wondering why the boy, Jacob, had followed him. At the pace he was going, it looked like he would catch up to Vincent in about a half hour. He wondered if he should wait. Shaking his head, he started walking again. If the boy had followed him on his own, then the boy would have to catch him on his own too. Vincent kept a steady pace throughout the night, only stopping once to attend to a call of nature. The boy was like a shadow, never seeming to get closer but never falling further behind. Sunrise came, it's soft greys turning to pale pinks to vibrant reds, oranges and yellows. An hour before high noon, Vincent was getting uncomfortable in the growing heat. He glanced back at the boy; if he was getting uncomfortable, then the boy must surely be ready to drop. Vincent stopped, dropped his pack and started rummaging through it. He found what he was looking for at the bottom. With ease born of practice, he set up his two-sided tent, staking the ropes securely. He took a small sip of water, and settled in to wait out the hottest part of the day. The oppressive heat lulled him and Vincent let his eyes slip shut, only to reopen them what felt like seconds later. His keen ears had picked out the sound of footsteps not far away. He sat up and waited for the boy to come to him. When the boy finally stumbled into his view, Vincent was surprised at his condition. He didn't look like he'd been walking for an entire night and half the day.

"Why did you follow me?" Vincent asked when the boy was in hearing range. The boy flinched, his hands twitching at his sides as if they wanted to cover his ears. Vincent could see the boy swallowing, trying to figure out a reasonable excuse. In the end, all he did was shrug.

"Come under here, where it's cooler; I won't hurt you." The boy hesitated, unsure of Vincents' intentions. He complied quickly enough when Vincent motioned with his gauntleted left hand though.

"Your name is Jacob, correct?" The boy nodded once, his bright green eyes never leaving Vincents' own blood red. He motioned for Jacob to sit, again with his left hand. The boy complied, just as quickly as before. It made Vincent wonder briefly about his upbringing.

"Can you speak?" The boy shook his head once, never breaking eye contact. "Have you always been mute?" A single nod in response. "How do you communicate then?"

''' _Sign language_ ''' Jacob said, making motions with his hands that Vincents' memory had to scramble to dredge up.

"Why did you follow me?"

''' _I had to get away. They were going to leave me at the dead oasis a couple hours from where they met you. If I did not stay, they were going to chain me there. So I left them. I figured I would be safe if I went with you. I saw how John looked at you. You scared him._ ''' Jacobs' hands moved fast, flying through the words. Vincent stayed silent, letting his mind catch up and decipher what the boy had said.

"The one who called himself John, he said you were a danger to everyone. Why did he say that?" The boy shrugged, his roughspun shirt falling off his shoulder. Vincent glimpsed faint scars across his collarbone before he tugged it back up.

''' _I was born under a blood moon, the only time ever in our village. My mother died shortly after. As I got older, things happened around me, or because of me. The villages' crops were scant or failed entirely; the wells ran dry. Everyone blamed it on me. Then the monsters began attacking. Many people died. The village elders thought that if they got rid of me, then everything would return to how it was. So John put together a party to go hunting; I was supposed to go with them and get lost and left behind while out in the Wastes._ ''' Vincent stayed quiet through the boys narrative, his gaze taking in every detail of the boy. He was thin, almost to the point of emaciation, his bones standing out in sharp relief. His hair hung in thick dreads to waist, and Vincent could see where it was starting to go white at the roots. Actually, on closer inspection, it was more silver than white.

"How old are you?" Vincent asked, reaching over to his pack and snagging a waterskin from it. He handed it to the boy, motioning for him to drink when he hesitated. The boy drank deeply, practically draining it before he spoke.

'''I have seen fifteen summers so far.''' Vincent stared openly, dumbstruck. A child, no, a young man, to be sentenced to death? Surely being born under a blood moon couldn't have become so bad? Vincent thought back; he had been born under a blood moon too, the only son of a world renowned scientist. His mother too, had died in childbirth, despite everything the doctors had tried. After the funeral, his father had found a wet nurse, and from there, it was a steady progression of nannies and tutors as he had grown up. His father had never shown much interest in him, but he had at least provided for his son. Listening to Jacob tell about how his village had treated him, Vincent was grateful for what his own father had deemed kind.

"Won't John follow you, to carry out his duty?" Jacob shook his head no.

"What makes you think he won't follow you?" The boy reached behind his back and drew a dagger from the waistband of his pants. The blade was wickedly sharp, and though it was clean, Vincent could smell the blood of many on it.

"So you killed him?" Vincent's gauntleted left hand twitched, the serrated digits making a squealing sound as metal grated on metal. The boy glanced warily at it before smiling, a small, shy smile.

'''No, not John, just the man that was already injured. He would not have made it anyway. I merely eased his passing. As long as I never return to the village, it will not matter. John will not tell whether he let me go or killed me.''' he signed before returning the knife to his waistband. Vincent could feel his teeth clenching, and a muscle in his cheek twitching. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, willing his tense muscles to relax. He didn't need to be going off on the boy; he was only telling the truth. Vincent inhaled and exhaled sharply, rising to his feet in a single fluid motion.

"The sun is going down. We'd best get moving." He said, untying the tent ropes and folding the waterproof canvas into a small, tight bundle. He jammed it in his pack before slinging the whole thing over his shoulder. His rifle followed suit.

''' _You mean I can- I mean, you will let me come with you?_ ''' Jacobs' hands shook as he signed, giving lie to how grateful he was. Vincent nodded, his crimson gaze catching Jacobs' own.

"You will have to keep up with me though. I tend to walk very quickly." Vincent let a small smile tug the corners of his mouth upwards before he schooled his expression still again. Turning on his heel, he marched off to the east, resuming his interrupted journey to the next oasis. If he was remembering and reading his mental map correctly, there should also be a village a weeks' walk from the oasis. Vincent glanced back at the boy following him. He had surprising stamina and resilience for looking like a walking corpse. A memory sprang unbidden to the surface, a memory of a spunky little ninja who had always said he himself looked like a corpse. He had always feigned anger or disinterest when she had called him names, though some of the names she had come up with had been utterly heinous to say the least. Vincent let a slightly larger smile than before grace his lips; he missed the spunky ninja. Returning his mind to the present, he resumed his study of Jacob. He was small for a fifteen year-old, his growth most likely stunted by poor nutrition. His hair, a muddy brown going silver at the roots, hung in dirty dreadlocks to his waist; Vincent made a top priority mental note to cut and wash the boys' hair when they got to the oasis. He was dressed in what looked like a burlap sack semi-fashioned into a shirt, with pants that looked more hole and patch than actual cloth. Both articles of 'clothing' hung loosely on him and Vincent made another note to get more clothing when they reached the village. His green eyes, so like the son of his first love, were downcast, focused intently on the ground in front of his feet. Feet that were bare. Vincent cursed inwardly at himself for not noticing sooner. The boy had followed him over scorching sands for hours, never once complaining. His feet surely must have been causing him untold agony.

"You are not wearing shoes." Vincent said in an offhand manner. Jacob started, so intently focused he hadn't heard Vincent clear his throat in preperation of speaking.

''' _I have never worn shoes. I can not feel the heat of the sand very much, so it does not bother me._ ''' he signed, balancing on his left leg to show Vincent the hard, horn-like calluses on his right foot. Vincent nodded in acknowledgment. They continued walking in amiable silence until he noticed that Jacob was flagging. Vincent glanced at the sun; it was going down in the west, a handspan from the horizon. He supposed they could stop-

''' _I smell that mean we are near the oasis?_ ''' Jacob signed, his strength returning a bit at the prospect. Vincent nodded, motioning for him to follow. He complied, as fast as his leaden legs would allow. Despite how strong the scent of water had been, it took another twenty minutes to reach the oasis. They were not disappointed though; it was the largest Vincent had seen in many a year, at nearly four times the size of the last one he had been to. The lake, for it was far too large to call a pond, boasted crystal clear blue waters. Vincent could see the silvery bodies of innumerable fish; good, they would have dinner and food for travel. Vincent looked around some more, his old work habits coming to the fore. There were a large number of desert hardy trees, and Vincent was surprised to recognize a coconut tree, heavy with fruit. Small, brightly colorful birds flitted from one tree-top to the next, calling in high, shrill voices; Vincent imagined they were telling each other about the intruders in their safe haven.


	5. Chapter 4

"We will stay here for a while. You need to become stronger and we will need food to reach the next oasis." Vincent picked a shady spot at random and deposited his pack and rifle. His cloak and bandana followed, folded neatly and set on top. Unbuckling his boots and slipping them off, he set them primly beside the pack. He could feel Jacob's keen gaze on him as he unbuckled his gauntlet, slipping his hand out of it and setting it on top of his cloak. Vincent flexed the fingers of his left hand, feeling the scar tissue stretch as his knuckles popped. He pulled his shirt over his head, folding it neatly and placing it on top of his boots. Without a backward glance at Jacob, though he could feel the boys' incredulous gaze on his back the whole time, he stripped his pants off too, those following the suit of his shirt. He walked to the edge of the water, stepping in so quietly that the water barely rippled. Vincent let himself sigh, his breath so quiet even he barely heard it. He wiggled his toes and waited patiently for the fish to become interested. A couple smaller fry approached cautiously, but they were too small to suit his needs. He wiggled his toes again, stirring the soft sand of the bottom. A dark silver flash caught his eye a second before the small fries scattered to the four winds. A large catfish, easily three feet long, swam lazily towards him. Slowly, ever so slowly, Vincent lowered his right hand into the water, taking great care not to cause any ripples. The catfish swam closer, passing over his fingers. He wiggled his fingers, easing them towards the fishs' sensitive underbelly. With lightning quickness, Vincent yanked his hand upward, hooking his fingers in the fishs' gill slits. With a triumphant snort, he flung the fish at Jacob. The boy caught it, quickly dashing its' head against a tree to kill it. Vincent nodded in approval before resuming his patient fishing. When he was satisfied with the number of dead fish on the beach, he stepped out of the water, gathered the fish into a neat pyramid by the side of one of the flat stones at the waters edge and proceeded to clean them.

''' _Do you want me to help_?''' Jacob signed, then cursed himself in his head. How was Vincent supposed to 'hear' him when he couldn't see him?

"You can start a fire. I assume you know how to use Materia?" Vincent said without looking up from skinning and gutting fish. He had a large array of them before him on the stone, all large, in various stages of being cleaned. The boy shook his head, his dreads flying.

''' _I have never heard of it. My village was very far away, and no one was near enough to us for us to get information_.''' Jacob replied, forgetting again that the man couldn't see his hands. Vincent nodded, again without looking up, his fingers deftly slicing open the belly of a fish and removing the guts into a bucket.

"You can build the fire then. I will light it when I am done." Jacob nodded and went off in search of dead wood to use. It took him a long while to find enough wood, being that it was dark, and the moon wasn't up yet. He trudged back to the lake, his arms trembling from the strain of carrying the wood. Vincent was where he'd left him, working on the last fish. All the others were neatly spitted on branches, waiting to be cooked. Jacob dumped the wood unceremoniously in the spot Vincent indicated, letting himself fall to the ground in a likewise manner. Vincent glanced at him as he finished scaling the final fish and spitted it. He stabbed the stick into the sand and stood, dusting himself off. Jacob noticed with a blush that Vincent hadn't put his clothes back on. The practical part of his mind said it would be easier to clean the fish blood off with only bare skin to worry about and a tiny part of his brain sniggered at the realization that the lean young man's carpet matched his drapes. Vincent quickly showed him how to arrange the sticks in the best formation for easy starting, though Jacobs' eyes kept wandering south. If Vincent noticed the discomfort the boy was in he chose not to show it. The boys' attention was drawn elsewhere when Vincent produced a colorful palm-sized marble from what seemed like thin air.

"This is Materia, a Fire Materia to be precise. Tell me what you feel." he said, handing over the orb. Jacob cupped it in his palm, half afraid of dropping and loosing it in the sand. The orb was very light, and much warmer than it should have been just from Vincent holding it. It looked like there was a tiny fie burning in the heart of the Materia. He handed it back before signing,

''' _It feels much warmer than it should be_.'''

"Each Materia has a different feel to it. You have felt Fire. It is only one of four that I have in my possession currently. The rest of my collection is safe, far from harm. Would you like me to teach you how to use them?" At Jacobs' excited nod, Vincent rose gracefully to his feet, padded quietly to his pack and knelt to rummage in one of the pouches. While he was there, he slipped back into his pants; for that, Jacob was grateful, as it was getting hard not to stare. When Vincent came back, he proffered his hand, rolling the three orbs around his palm. At his slight nod, Jacob took them delicately, inhaling sharply at the slight buzz from the yellow orb, the chill from the blue-white orb, and the sense of peace from the green orb. Vincent took the Fire Materia and focused his blood red eyes on the pile of wood.

" ** _FIRE_**." he intoned, feeling the slight drain on his energy. The wood took almost instantly, crackling cheerfully. Vincent snagged the spitted fish and set them over the fire to cook. In a few minutes, the meat was crisping and the savory aroma had both their mouths watering. While they waited, Vincent taught Jacob how to use the different Materia; it seemed that the scrawny boy had a knack for magic. When the intoxicating scent of the roasting fish became too much, he chose the tastiest looking fish, which also happened to be the biggest, and handed it to Jacob. The boy took it gingerly, blowing on it to cool it before taking a delicate bite. He chewed and swallowed, his eyes closing in pleasure at the taste. Vincent chose one for himself, not bothering with the ritualistic cooling. He had always been partial to catfish. Growing up in Wutai where there had been fish hatcheries, it had been easy to get them at a cheap price. It had been significantly harder to come by catfish when he had moved to Midgar, but his healthy paycheck had seen to it that he got the best fish when they were to be had.

''' _May I have another_?''' Jacob asked, setting the picked-clean skeleton of the fish on the sand beside him. Vincent waved a hand lazily at him. He had caught so many intending for them all to be eaten either by himself or the boy. He intended to use the fish guts as bait to catch more and bigger fish to dry for travel rations. While he was at it, he could see what trees had fruit to offer. If he was lucky, he might be able to catch a bird or two as well. When the boy was finally full, he had eaten a grand total of six fish, to Vincents' three. The skeletons made a small pile between them. The fire had died down to sullenly smoldering coals. Vincent rose to his feet gracefully, scooping up the four Materia, returning them to their pouch, and started picking up the dropped boughs from the palm trees. With precision, he arranged them into a tight, but soft, bed. Over it, he laid his cloak.

"You may sleep here." he said, taking a few large palm leaves and moving back to the fire to wrap the leftover fish and bury them in the sand. Jacob acquiesced, too tired to even think of putting up any form of resistance. He made sure the boy was sleeping soundly before taking his pants off again and slipping into the placid waters of the lake. He judged that Jacob would sleep like the dead for a good many hours, so he had plenty of time to catch enough fish to dry. But first, he was going to enjoy the water. Vincent stroked from one end of the lake to the other and back again, feeling the delicious burn in underworked muscles. When he had completed ten laps, he climbed out, wringing the water from his hair back into the lake. With quiet steps, he padded past the sleeping boy, pulled a length of rope from his pack, grabbed the bucket of guts, and padded back to the lakeshore. He spent the next few hours baiting the larger fish, slipping the rope through their gills when he caught them. When the rope was full, he deemed his work satisfying. Leaving the rope of fish in the water, he climbed out, again wringing his hair back into the lake. Making a small depression in the sand beside Jacobs' bed, Vincent lay down beside him to catch his own forty winks.

A sense of intense rage woke him, rousing him from deep sleep to full alert in a matter of seconds. Vincent shot to his feet, his right hand closing instinctively around the butt of his gun. Cursing his laxness, he snatched up his gauntlet and jammed his left hand and arm into it, cinching the buckles tight with savage yanks of his head. Crimson eyes peered into the undergrowth, searching for the source of his unease. A pair of sulfurous yellow eyes burned from beneath the cover of the bushes. Vincent took careful aim, sighting along the barrel. The eyes blinked, and he had a seconds' warning growl before the creature lunged at him. He went down in a tangle of limbs with two-inch-long fangs snapping at his throat; his gun was knocked from his hand and went skidding in the sand. The beast was huge, easily a match for his Galian Beast, if he'd still possessed it. He got his gauntlet up, closing the serrated fingers around the beasts' throat; at every snap and lunge the beast made, Vincent tightened his fingers more. When he thought he couldn't make his hand constrict any further, the beast gave a wet gurgle and collapsed on top of him. The beast had weight to match its' size, a detached part of his brain noted. He shoved it off with a grunt of effort, getting to his feet to survey the beast. It was massive, easily ten feet from wet black nose to bushy tail tip. It had thick, rough, coal black fur shot through with threads of silver, but underneath the concealment of the fur, Vincent could see how thin its' body was. Looking closer, he could see that the creature was male, though it was hard to tell at first glance beneath the thick coat of fur. The creature was still breathing, but it was bleeding somewhat heavily from the gashes Vincents' fingers had left in its' neck. Luckily, he had more rope, so he could tie the beast up after tending its' wounds. As he moved to his pack, he noticed that the bed he had made for Jacob was empty. He didn't think much of it; maybe the boy had just gotten up to attend to natures' call. He retrieved the other rope and some bandages, and returned to the beast. It hadn't moved, but the puddle of blood had turned into a small pool. Vincent grimaced, hastening to bandage the wounds. Blood soaked through the bandages quickly; he tossed the soiled ones aside and applied new ones. He worked in a semi-frenetic manner, his hands flying through the life-saving techniques he'd learned as a young man. Finally, he sat back on his heels to survey his handiwork. For not having needed the knowledge in many years, he was pleased to see that he had not forgotten it; he was also grateful for the deeply ingrained training that had kept him in the habit of keeping a fully stocked med-kit, even though he himself had lost the need for it a long long time ago. Mindful of the bandages, he wound the rope securely around the beasts legs, making sure the knots wouldn't come undone if it struggled. Satisfied with his knot-work, he rose, pulled his pants on, and went in search of more firewood, the embers of the fire having gone cold while he was working.


	6. Chapter 5

' _Why was I so set on saving that beast? It attacked me. It was like something was forcing me, but what?_ ' Vincent debated with himself as he gathered almost every piece of wood that crossed his path. Even though that beast had attacked him of its' own volition, after subduing it, it felt like something had taken hold of him, making him treat the beasts' wounds. Vincent didn't like being controlled like that, hated the feeling of helplessness. Just what was it that had seized him? He stopped in his tracks, midway through his stride. His mind was going in circles, asking the same question a hundred different ways. He would get nowhere that way. Forcing his wandering mind back to the task at hand, he resumed gathering sticks, deliberately keeping his thoughts blank.

The sun was beginning to rise when Vincent returned. He dropped his load of wood by the dead fire and turned to look at the beast. He was mildly shocked to find Jacob in place of the beast, the ropes and bandages slack; the wounds were partially healed already, bright red and angry looking. He knelt beside him and unwound the bandages and rope, coiling each neatly. Next, he checked the boys' breathing and heart rate. Both were fine, if a little shallow. He lifted the boy, an arm under his neck and the other behind his knees, and carried him back to the bed he'd made, laying him down as gently as he could. He arranged the boys' thin limbs in positions that he thought would be comfortable, covering him with his cloak. Then he turned his attention to the fire. He decided that since the sun was coming up, they wouldn't need it for light or warmth, but there was nothing saying he couldn't make it ready for the night. Taking the sturdiest sticks, he quickly wove together drying racks for the fish. He retrieved his rope of fish from the lake and set to gutting, scaling and filleting them. When the fish were reduced to many strips of flesh, he laid them out on the drying racks and set the racks where they would be in the full sun all day. If the Gods were kind, he'd be able to make enough rations to see them to the village; if he was really lucky, they might even have enough to trade. By the time he was finishing with the fish, Jacob was coming to. Vincent moved to his side, offering the boy water from a cup he had filled earlier. The boy drank greedily, sucking the water down as if he'd been without water for weeks instead of only a couple of hours. The boys' eyes were glazed, non-reactive when he passed his hand in front of them. Vincent snapped his fingers twice, sharply, at each of Jacobs' ears. They boy didn't so much as twitch. He sat and watched the boy for a few minutes, weighing his options, before deciding on the best course of action to return the boy to his senses. Without warning, he grabbed the boys' scrawny arm, just below the shoulder joint, and hurled him bodily into the cold waters of the lake. He came up spluttering a few seconds later. Sense had returned to his green eyes and he glared at Vincent. He swam the short distance to the shore and climbed out, still glaring.

''' _What did you do that for? And how did you know I could swim_?''' he signed, peeling his sodden clothes off and heaping them by the mound of leaves that served as a bed, then huddling next to the barely glowing embers of the fire, seeking whatever warmth it might give.

"You were unresponsive, so I returned you to your senses in the quickest way I could think of. Care to tell me what happened to you last night?" Vincent said it in a mostly monotone voice, with only a tiny amount of inflection on 'happened', choosing to ignore for now the part about his swimming ability. While he waited for an answer, he fed the fire bigger, then retrieved his cloak and draped it over the boys' slightly shaking form. Jacob cast about for a bit, before settling on staring at his feet with his shoulders hunched, as if he were preparing for some physical blow. Vincent retrieved the leftover fish from beneath the sand, partially unwrapping one before handing it to the boy. Jacob took it, though reluctantly, not letting his fingers touch Vincents'. He stared at the fish, as though it could answer in his stead. When the fish remained silent, he gathered his courage and began to speak.

''' _I was born under a blood moon, the first in many generations. The midwife told my father that I was cursed because of it. My first transformation was nothing, compared to the ones now. My birthday that turn of seasons happened to be on the night of the full moon. Everyone in the village hated full moons, but not me. I always felt more at peace with nothing but the moon for company. I don't really remember much, just that I fell asleep like any other night, and woke up in the center of the village a while later. I don't remember anyone seeing me as I went home, but there was talk in the village of a giant wolf that had prowled through the night before. I kept my mouth shut, out of fear, but my father figured it out after the second time. That was seven turns ago. I transform every full moon it seems. After my third or so, my father started chaining me up the night before the full moon, 'for my safety' he told me. I knew he was afraid of me though; I could smell it, sour. With each new transformation, the beast got stronger, though my father tried his best to keep me weak by starving me. Then the beast got strong enough to break the chains. It rampaged, slaughtering to its' hearts content. It was after that that the village elders decided I was too dangerous to keep around. They put together a group of skilled hunters to take me to the Wastes and leave me. John set the fastest pace he could, but we were still only halfway when the next new moon came. I transformed in front of all the hunters. They managed to subdue to beast but not before it had almost killed one man. If you ask me, they should have just killed me back in the village. would have saved them a lot of trouble_.''' Throughout his narrative, his eyes had been focused intently on his hands as they flew through the signs. Vincent listened with singleminded intensity, committing it all to memory; he made a special mental note to kill John on the spot if they ever crossed paths again. Taking a deep breath, he let it out, forcing his muscles to relax. He'd been more tense in the past few days than he had in the last century. Seeking to busy his hands before the rage could take a good hold of him, Vincent strode stiff-legged to his drying racks to check on the fish. Satisfied with the state of dehydration, he stalked into the woods, calling over his shoulder that he would be back soon. When he was sure he was out of earshot of Jacob, meaning that he couldn't hear the boy, not the other way around, he gave in to the rage gnawing at his control. Vincent roared, feeling the skin of his ears stretch as the cartilage elongated. He ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling the sharp points of his canines pressing into the soft tissue. Taking a deep breath and another, he roared again, feeling the exhilarating rush of energy the residual Chaos transformation gave him. To say that he missed the demon would be a grave overstatement, but he had found the demons' form useful from time to time. With the semi-transformation came heightened senses, even more so than what they normally were. He could smell the rich, heady scent of the earth beneath the roots of the trees, the sharp green scent of the leaves, the spicy scent of burrowing beetles that could be eaten. Under all of this, he caught the faint scent of disease, cold, arid and grey. If he was reading the scents right, then this oasis wouldn't be here for much longer. That thought was sobering, dousing his rage like a bucketful of sand on a campfire. He shivered as his body reverted to its normal state. Along with the transformation came a higher body temperature, and the reversion always dropped it below the normal range for a human. His mind now free from the rage, he could focus on completing what he had told Jacob he was going to do.

After a short time searching, he found a coconut tree that was absolutely loaded, a fig tree that was likewise burdened, and a humongous blueberry bush that was so heavy with berries that the branches touched the ground. He gathered a large amount of palm fronds from the ground, and set to weaving them into a sturdy basket to carry the figs and blueberries. Setting the finished basket beside the fig tree, he started picking the fruit, shimmying his way up the trunk once the easily reached ones were gone. Before long, the basket was full off figs, and the tree was not. Seeing that the basket most likely wouldn't hold any more, he set to weaving another. This basket was soon filled to the brim as well, with blueberries. Shaking his head ruefully at the amount he had gathered , he made for the coconut tree, climbing hand over hand to the top to get the hard-shelled fruit. With the serrated digits of his gauntlet, he sawed through the stems of the ripe coconuts. He let a tiny smile tug at the corners of his lips at the soft thud each made when it hit the sand. Soon, even the coconut tree was stripped of its burdens. Vincent wrapped his legs around the tree loosely and let gravity carry his weight back to the ground. He gave another rueful half smile at the sheer amount of fruit he had been able to gather in such a short period of time. The only problem was, how was he going to get it all back to camp?


	7. Chapter 6

In the end, and after much struggle, Vincent managed to get all of his plunder back to camp. When he stumbled into the clearing, Jacob was fast asleep on the bier he had made for him, curled tightly inside his cloak. The angry red, rope-like scar around the boys' throat had faded to a more subdued red, and looked more like a regular rope burn than the deep gash it had been only a few hours before. He decided to be generous, in light of what the boy had been through in recent hours, and let him sleep. For once, or maybe twice, Vincent was grateful for his enhanced strength; it certainly made doing menial chores a little easier sometimes. For instance, most people would need to painstakingly score and cut open the coconuts. All Vincent had to do was run a serrated digit around where he wanted the coconut to split, and twist his hands, like wringing a towel, and the coconut would pop open. After the first one, he cursed himself for not remembering that the hard-shelled fruit had liquid inside. He made double sure after that to drill a hole and drain the milk into one of his collapsable pots, after making sure the milk was fit to drink. Thankfully for small mercies, his sensitive nose made it possible for him to discern that without having to taste it. When all the coconuts were drained of their milk and in halves, he set to carving the meat into strips to dry. Luckily, there were a good number of large, flat stones at the lakes' edge. They would be perfect for drying the fruit. Vincent glanced up at the sun, judging it to be about noon. That would explain why his stomach was making its' presence known. He wondered at that. Before acquiring the boy, he hadn't been bothering to eat except every few days. It wasn't a new habit, but one he'd developed back when he'd been leader of the infamous Turks, when his duties had piled to the ceiling and beyond, and he hadn't had time to eat. His comrades in AVALANCHE had often wondered and yes, even worried, about him, and a certain loudmouthed ninja had outright demanded he eat something every day, even if it was something as small as an apple. It had amused him to watch her trying to cow a man almost twice her size into eating. He realized with a sharp pang of grief that he greatly missed his spunky little ninja. Perhaps he should have returned her feelings for him? He shook himself violently, sending the mound of empty coconut husks cascading to the ground with a clatter. Hadn't those thirty years in the coffin taught him that dredging up old memories only made the pain worse? Maybe Hojo had been right; he was a glutton for punishment. A soft barely-there sound niggled at the edge of his hearing, it sounded like-

He reacted instantly, throwing his body sideways into the sand as the behemoth charged out of the forests' edge. He brought his right hand up- Empty. Cerberus was sitting on his pack next to the sleeping boy. Vincent cursed himself for his laxness as he got to his feet, making small, smooth motions to keep from attracting and enraging the behemoth. Luck was not with him. The high noon sun glinted of his gauntlet, reflecting directly into the tiny pig eyes of the behemoth. Blinded and enraged, it charged in the last direction it had seen Vincent. The lithe ex-Turk dodged it, skirting around it to make for his target. The behemoth lumbered to a stop a few hundred feet from where it started, turning round in circles trying to find its' escaped victim. It found Vincent just as he grabbed the gun. He cursed for the third time in a similar amount of time, as the beast got ready to charge. Bringing his arm up, he leveled the muzzle of the gun at the beasts forehead, right between its beady little eyes. He squeezed the trigger, the deafening report of the triple-barreled gun sounding like music to his ears. He saw with dismay that the three bullets fired simultaneously did nothing, merely bouncing off the behemoths armored hide. The bullets did little to deter it from charging either; if anything, it just made it angrier.

"JACOB!" Vincents' bellow could have rivaled the roar of the behemoth. The boy in question stirred, opening bleary green eyes. He blinked owlishly at the behemoth, understanding making his eyes go wide. Ever so lowly, he nodded once, letting Vincent know that he didn't have to worry about him. Vincent nodded his acknowledgement, dashing towards the behemoth at top speed. The beast turned ponderously to follow him and lumbered after his fleeing form. While Vincent was busy distracting the beast, Jacob crept slowy to the mans' pack and carefully removed the rifle from its resting place. He noticed runes carved into the butt as he removed the sock covering the muzzle. He watched with fascination as his hands checked that there was no obstruction in the barrel, slid a bullet into the chamber, racked it, brought the butt to his shoulder. He gazed down the barrel, some deep, long dormant instinct dictating how his body moved. He lined the sights up with where he knew the beasts' heart was and squeezed the trigger. The recoil dazed him and sent him sprawling on his back in the sand. Vincent heard the famiiar report of a gun that only he should be able to fire. Expecting the worst, he jumped straight up, squeezing every last ounce of strength from his muscles to drive his body into the sky, arcing over the behemoth with a good fifteen feet to spare. The beast stumbled, a small hole appearing in its left side as a massive hole blasted its way out of its right side. It went down in a tangle of limbs and lay still in a growing pool of blood. Vincent coiled himself into a ball, altering his center of gravity to come down in front of the still prone boy. Jacob looked between the body of the beast and Vincent, marveling at the distance between the two; had to be at least twenty-five feet. The ex-Turk offered the boy his hand which Jacob took gratefully, handing the high-powered rifle to him once he was on his feet. Vincent looked sharply at him, weighing his next words carefully.

"Tell me, how were you able to use a gun that was tailor-made for me?" His question was sharp, but somehow held a note of gentleness. The boy shrugged.

''' _I was not thinking. I just acted. Something was telling me how to do it. This was the first time I have ever shot a gun. It felt so familiar though_...''' he trailed off, letting his hands fall back to his sides. Vincent wordlessly held the rifle out for him to take. He did so, the weight of the rifle nearly making him drop it, if Vincent hadn't grabbed it before he could. The discrepancy itched at his finely-honed Turk instincts. Jacob gave him a sheepish smile and shrugged again. He let it slide this time though, filing it away with the many other discrepancies the boy posed. He re-muzzled the rifle, setting it gently back in its place by his pack. He removed a large, long-bladed knife from the pack, turning with it in his right hand. He beckoned with it, the hot afternoon sun glinting darkly on its well oiled surface. The boy skittered over to him and Vincent cursed himself again for forgetting the boy's upbringing.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I'm only going to cut your hair. It won't hurt. I was meaning to do this earlier, but now is as good a time as any." Jacob warily knelt in front of him, keeping as still as possible. Vincent cut through each lock as gently as he could, trying not to inadvertently cut too close to the boys' scalp. When he was done, he ran his hand across the boys' shorn head, brushing a few loose locks to the ground.

"That will do for now. If you can't keep it clean and free of tangles, then I will continue to cut it short." The boy nodded emphatically, glad to have the massive weight of his unkempt hair gone.


	8. Chapter 7

''' _Why did that behemoth attack you_?''' Vincent shrugged at the boys' question. He had no good idea himself, though he had seen the beast watching him from the shadows while he had been harvesting the fruit. He moved to put the knife away, thought better of it, and turned on his heel, striding to the behemoths' slowly cooling corpse. Setting the tip of the blade into a joint in the creatures armored hide, he pried away a piece of armor, revealing soft, delicate white flesh beneath. Heartened by his find, Vincent prized off more pieces of armor, setting each piece aside in the sand; he might be able to find a use for them later. The behemoths' meat looked like it would be fit for eating, but only cooking and tasting would tell. Using deft strokes of the super-sharp knife, he carved the carcass into its constituent parts. His training as a Turk had included anatomy lessons on just about every kind of creature, so he was also a skilled butcher. While Vincent worked on the carcass, Jacob picked his now dry clothes off the ground, shook them free of sand and dressed.

"Rekindle the fire. I'm going to cook one of these" he said, gesturing to a piece of steak with the point of the knife, "to see if it's any good to eat."

''' _No need. This is the same kind of behemoth that lived around my village. The villagers used them as a primary meat source. There is a special way to dry the meat, but I know how to do that_.''' Vincent nodded, stacking the large amount of assorted cuts of meat on the plates of armor, carrying them two to a hand over to the flat stones at the lakes' edge. Once he finished carting the plates of meat over, he searched for a smaller flat stone to use as a griddle. He found one to his liking and lugged it over to the fire pit. He rearranged the fire pit with the stone at its' center and rekindled the fire, feeding it bigger until he was sure that the stone was hot enough to sear the two steaks he had chosen for their lunch. Jacob watched the ex-Turks' every movement with intense green eyes, as if trying to commit it all to memory.

"You can show me how to dry the rest of the meat while our lunch is cooking." Nodding,the boy came over to him, taking a large plate and sorting through the chunks of meat.

''' _Do you have any salt? The drying process goes faster with some salt_.''' Jacob said, his signing punctuated by him setting the chosen strips of meat out on the flat stones. Vincent shook his head; he had a large number of supplies in his pack, but the last of his salt had been used up quite a number of years ago, and the only salt mine he knew of that was still available was a half a continent away.

''' _The meat can be dried without salt, but it won't last as long, only about six months. With the fruit and berries you found, and the meat and some fat from the behemoth, I can make pemmican; that will last about as long as the sun-dried meat_.''' Vincent nodded, committing what he hadn't known to memory. Taking the knife, he sliced the chunks of meat into thinner strips so they would dry better. Taking an armor plate full of strips, he switched the now dried fish with the behemoth meat. Working side-by-side, he and Jacob finished setting out the meat to dry just in time for the steaks Vincent had put on the griddle stone to be done. Taking two small, roughly plate sized and shaped pieces of the behemoths' armor, he speared the steaks neatly on the tip of the knife, transferring them to the makeshift plates. He handed the biggest to Jacob, along with a small, narrow-bladed eating knife. They ate in silence, both staring into the fire, one with a blank emerald gaze, the other with an intensely focused dark garnet.

' _He shouldn't have been able to lift Hydra, let alone fire it. He shouldn't even know what a gun is. My three are the last there are. I would find it exceedingly odd if he was able to use Death Penalty. Hmm. Perhaps I should retrieve it? No, it is safer where it is. Why was he able to sleep through Cerberus firing so close to him, yet he woke up when I shouted at him_?' These thoughts tumbled through Vincents' head, ricocheting and rebounding off one another until his head hurt from trying to sort them out. In an uncharacteristic display of emotion, he shook his head harshly, sending his myriad braids flying with the force. Jacob started, skittering sideways in the sand as a couple of the almost six-foot-long pleats slapped him. A small part of Vincents' mind buried underneath all the serious noted the boys' shocked expression with a small snigger.

''' _How can you deal with your hair being that long_?''' Jacob signed, chewing absently on a piece of steak. Vincent looked thoughtfully at his hair, so carefully braided. In truth, it had only gotten as long as it had because it was too difficult to cut it every three weeks to keep it at a more easily manageable length. In his Turk days, he had been going to a barber on a weekly basis. He wished he could chalk up the rate at which his hair grew to one of Hojos' experiments, but unfortunately, his hair was simply a product of his genes. If he remembered correctly, his fathers' hair had grown the same way. In the end, he shrugged, not having a good enough answer.

"I suppose I should cut it. It grows so fast though, that it is difficult to keep on top of. It has been this long for almost three years, and doesn't seem to have grown any more, so I might leave it. Truth be told, I've become accustomed to it." He left it at that, opting instead to check on the pot of fat gathered from the behemoth. It was rendering nicely, and would be ready to use for the pemmican in a few more hours. He stood gracefully, going to check on the state of the drying fruit. The blueberries were done, having dried to hard little balls. The figs would require another day, as would the coconut strips. While he was up, he also checked on the meat. Some of the thinnest strips would be dry enough to use on the morrow. Vincent glanced up at the sun, which was by now westering, sending out brilliant rays of orange across the sky. Heaving a sigh, he turned and made his way back to the fire, snagging a few half-dried strips of coconut and a handful of figs as he went. He handed two-thirds of the fruit to Jacob as he sat back down, a piece of the coconut already in his mouth. Jacob sat quietly, savoring the fruit, as he watched the silent gunman from the corner of his eye. He noted the long, lean lines of muscle beneath the mans' skin, moving with the fluidity of silk in water whenever he drew a breath or shifted his position slightly. He noted how thin Vincent was, nothing but sinewy muscle. Watching, Jacob was reminded of the python one of the elders of his village had kept as a pet. The snake had been nearly ten feet long, as big around as its' owners' thigh. Idly, he wondered if Vincent had fangs like the python had had. He was about to dismiss it out of hand when he caught a flash of pearly white as the man in question popped a whole fig into his mouth. The mans' canines were definitely longer than they should have been. Absently, he ate a fig, not really noticing the flavor of the little fruit. Instead, he let his eyes crawl over every inch of Vincents' exposed skin. Though he had been out in the desert for however long, his skin was porcelain colored, even-toned without a blemish...That's when Jacob saw the cross-hatched scars covering just about every inch of Vincent. There were long, thin, pale scars that seemed to follow his veins; short, jagged scars that looked like they were made by a monsters claws; and dead center over his heart, three small, puckered scars in the shape of a triangle. Trying not to make it too obvious and draw unwanted attention to himself, Jacob leaned backwards a bit, trying to get a look at Vincents' left shoulder. There, on the gunmans' back, just left of his spine, were three larger, puckered scars, identical to the ones on his chest.

"You're wondering what they're from." Vincent said without looking at Jacob. The boy returned to his former position with a look of apology, and perhaps a trifle indignant that he had been found gawking. He nodded slightly, his greens eyes focused intently on his hands folded in his lap. Not quite knowing why, Vincent began to speak, his voice low and soft.

"When I was much younger, I loved a woman who didn't return my feelings. You see, she felt responsible for my fathers' death, and felt guilty every time she looked at me, Because of that, she turned to one of her colleagues. He was a jealous man, and begrudged her the small amount of time she had spent with me. During the course of their relationship, they married and she became pregnant. She offered her baby to science before it was born and I, in my devotion to her, tried to reason with her. Her jealous husband, tired of my 'interference' decided to have me gotten rid of. In the end, he shot and killed me, and then used my corpse for his experiments. I am the way I am because of him."


	9. Chapter 8

Jacob openly stared at him, his jaw slack and his mouth hanging slightly open in an expression of shock. He was having a hard time reconciling the stoic man before him with the full-of-emotion man from Vincents' story. Vincents' past must have been truly horrific to have changed him so much.

"What is past is past. It was a very long time ago." Vincent left it at that, standing and striding purposefully into the tree line. He hadn't come back by the time the sun fully set. Left to his own devices for who-knows-how-long, Jacob tended the fire, building it up and banking it so that it would provide light and warmth all night long. Stretching languorously, he moved to the drying racks, checking on the drying meat and fruit. The majority of the fruit was finished drying, so he removed the pieces, neatly filling the hand-woven baskets and carrying them back to the fire. He also moved the racks of meat closer to the fire to ward off scavenging bugs during the night. Satisfied with how he had arranged the racks, he fed the fire, took the pot of rendered fat off and covered it, and retired to the bed Vincent had made for him.

' _I wonder when he'll be back? Did I do something wrong? I didn't mean to force him into telling me_.' With those thoughts on his mind, Jacob fell asleep. In the forest, Vincent gathered more deadfall with a single-minded intensity, seeking something that would free his mind from the sudden onslaught of crushing sorrow remembering his past had brought on. Gathering sticks wasn't helping much. Stacking the wood in a haphazard pile, he went deeper into the forest in search of- what? He didn't know. It felt good to be away from the oppressive feeling of being near another person, even if Jacob was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Being accustomed to solitude for so long had its' drawbacks. Vincent kept walking, letting his feet take him wherever they wanted to go. Blazing light brought him out of his thoughts. In his mindless wandering, he had passed through the entire oasis forest and come out the other side. The stark white light of the rising moon burned his sensitive, dark-accustomed eyes. He blinked away the sudden tears, rubbing his eyes with his right hand, as he turned back to face the forest. This side of the oasis was bathed in moonlight, starkly outlining every tree. The scent of decay he had smelled earlier was stronger here, lingering in the air and filling his lungs with every breath he took. Suppressing a cough at the cloying fragrance, he made his way to a tree that looked as though it had been struck by lightning. The bark of the tree was sloughing off in long strips, its' leaves drown and brittle, the ground around its' roots littered with fallen branches. There were patches of darkness on the trunk and exposed roots that looked slick. Against a deep-seated instinct that told him not to touch it, Vincent knelt at the base of the tree, removed the glove from his right hand and gingerly touched one of the patches. His fingertips came away coated in a thick, slimy, viscous substance, not unlike phlegm. Bringing his fingers close to his nose, he inhaled deeply, letting his mind try to sort out the different scents. The sickly-sweet scent of rotting flesh covered another scent, one that he could only describe as emcold. /emIt was akin to the scent he had come across earlier in the day when gathering fruit, though it had a slightly different tone to it. His fingertips started to tingle and he hastily wiped the goo off onto the tree, scrubbing his whole hand with clean sand before slipping his glove back on.

' _There is something wrong with this oasis, though I know not what_.' Vincent started walking back through the forest, keeping his keen eyes peeled for any more signs of whatever-it-was that was affecting the plants. It seemed everywhere he looked he saw some evidence of it, whether it was a brown-leaved bush or the jagged stump of a tree turning to black sludge. The sight of such widespread disease disturbed him, reminding him uncomfortably of GeooStigma.

' _The GeoStigma was the Planets' way of getting rid of all of Jenovas' cells. The Stigma only affected those who had been exposed to Jenova. I never saw it affect plants or animals. Could this be something similar? If it is, what is causing it? ShinRa is no more, the last power plant fell into ruin a millennia ago There is nothing drawing from the LifeStream anymore, mankind doesn't have the technology for it anymore. What's causing it_?!' Vincent stopped in his tracks, confronted by a gigantic crater that seemingly opened up out of nowhere. He was sure he been heading back along the same path he come on earlier. There was no way he could have missed something of that size, so he must have gone off course. The sloping sides of the crater were littered with the desiccated remains of plants and animals alike. The very bottom of the crater was a pool of the same sludge clinging to the still living trees. From his position at the rim, Vincent could barely catch the smell of decay, though he imagined it was quite horrid further down. Furrowing his brow, and cursing his natural-born inquisitiveness, he started picking his way slowly down one side of the crater, aiming for the large, partially buried skeleton of what looked like a behemoth. When he finally got close to it, he saw that the flesh had been stripped away from the bones as though by acid, the bones themselves pitted and etched in a way he was intimately familiar with. Given how his fingertips still tingled from their brief contact with the slime earlier, he was willing to bet the behemoth had stumbled upon the crater, fallen into the pool at the bottom, then died from the acid as it had tried to climb out. Vincent scrutinized the other skeletons nearby; all showed signs of acid corrosion, the skulls pointing towards the rim. Gingerly, he touched a rib on the closest skeleton with the index finger of his gauntlet, expecting the solid bone to resist. The bone caved inwards at his touch, turning to dust at an alarming rate. His curiosity piqued, he tapped another bone, and another, with the same results. With care to his footing, he moved to the next closest skeleton and repeated the experiment. This one too, crumbled into dust. A quiet hiss drew his attention downward, to the pool of sludge. Tiny bubbles had started appearing on the surface, bursting, releasing tiny wisps of vapor. That deep-seated fight-or-flight instinct told him, in no uncertain terms, to get the hell out of there.

Taking far less care than he had in getting down, Vincent hastened up the slope, sliding in the soft dirt. It seemed almost as if the crater were growing, making it harder and harder to get back up to the rim. With something akin to shock, he realized that the pool at the bottom was getting bigger, pulling the loose soil of the slope down in a miniature avalanche. Realizing too late that going into the crater had been a grave mistake on his part, Vincent doubled his efforts, though it seemed hopeless. He looked behind him and immediately regretted it. The sludge was even closer than before, hissing vehemently, sending up plumes of vapor from a surface that looked for all the world like it was boiling. Setting his gaze firmly on the lip of the crater, he tripled his efforts, trying to squeeze every last bit of strength from his legs to drive himself upwards. The harrowing climb out of the mouth of death felt like it took hours, though in reality, it only took a few minutes. The sludge dogged his heels, catching the tips of his hair as it threatened to wrap around his legs and trip him. Just when he felt like he wouldn't be able to get away, his hand encountered empty air. The rim of the caldera disappeared beneath him as he vaulted over it, stumbling to his knees a few feet from the edge as his legs gave out. He watched in morbid fascination as the sludge reached the edge, and stopped. It was like it had come up against a barrier. Vincent stayed kneeling, trying to catch his breath, watching as the sludge slowly, grudgingly even, retreated. He waited until it had receded back to the small pool at the very bottom and its' surface was still once again. Heaving a final shaky breath, he climbed to his feet, sweeping his mass of braids over his right shoulder to examine the tips. The hair was singed, some of the tar-like substance still clinging to a few of the braids. Frowning, he watched as the tar seemed to creep up his hair, dissolving the black strands. Taking a firm grip on a section of the mass of hair, he slashed the razor-sharp serrated digits of his gauntlet through the pleats above his hand. With a seemingly careless motion, he threw the bundle into the crater. Taking another portion in hand, he repeated his previous actions. He kept at it until his once ankle-length hair had been chopped just short of shoulder length. Vincent watched with a strange feeling as the hanks of black hair were dissolved by the sludge.


End file.
